50
TO MY YOUNGER BROTHER,
ON HIS RETURN FROM SPAIN, AFTER THE FATAL RETREAT
UNDER SIR JOHN MOORE, AND THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA.
Tho' dark are the prospects and heavy the hours,
Tho' life is a desert, and cheerless the way;
Yet still shall affection adorn it with flow'rs,
Whose fragrance shall never decay!
And, lo! to embrace thee, my brother! she flies,
With artless delight, that no words can bespeak;
With a sun-beam of transport illuming her eyes,
With a smile and a glow on her cheek!
From the trophies of war, from the spear and the shield,
From scenes of destruction, from perils unblest;
Oh! welcome again to the grove and the field,
To the vale of retirement and rest!
